


Franky in the Slot

by Cerrone



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerrone/pseuds/Cerrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franky relfects on her life in Wentworth, when she gets an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Franky in the Slot

Who knows how long Franky had been in here. She’d been locked in the slot days ago. Or was it weeks now? Time, in this small square cell in this small corner of the world, dragged by. The place forced you to check off every minute of your life, to pay strict attention to it as it slithered out under the door. The slot was supposed to make you remorseful, make you sorry for what you did. But it didn’t. Franky was always glad to get out, but knew she’d be back in here soon for holding her ground, give anyone an inch and they’ll take a mile. For now Franky Doyle was doing push ups on the floor of the slot. The pads of her fingers pressed hard against the concrete floor, the skin around her knuckles white with effort. She felt her arms and her stomach burning as drops of sweat formed on her brow. Physical strength was imperative in Wentworth. There were too many women wanting to knock you off. Too many opportunities to get knifed out in the yard. You had to be strong to stay alive in this place. Jacs had hired muscle to do her bidding. She had a sharp tongue, alright, but if she was ever caught on her own.. Well, then the old bird would be in for some serious trouble. You’ve got to be strong enough to run this place on your own. You’ve got to walk before you can run, and if you can’t stand up and walk in Wentworth you’re fucked.

Franky groaned with effort as her muscles gave out beneath her, landing with a thud on the hard floor. There was little else to do in this place, and she was never idle for too long. The prisoner dressed in teal rolled over and lay on her back. Her aching arms bent at the elbow and hands hidden under her dark hair. Her eyes rested ahead of her, lingering on the minute details of the concrete ceiling. All the ceilings in this place were the same, aside from a crack or two here, a crudely scrawled ‘Franky was’ written on the ceiling of her own cell and in this case, drops of dried blood crusted onto the concrete where the screws hadn’t cleaned up properly after someone tried to do themselves in. The camera in the corner of the ceiling twitched and scanned her cell, the screws watching on the other end had probably gone on break and left it to record all her movements. Franky sighed. She was so sick of walls. Walls and cameras. And guards. Even out in the yard there were walls. She let her eyes wander around the room, bouncing off the four grey walls endlessly. Next to her the wall was punctuated with a large window with frosted glass. They’d engineered the place so that any light that came into the slots was grey. Outside she knew the Sydney sky was blue like glass, but in here all the light was grey. Grey and artificial.

She shifted her arms and folded her forearms across her forehead, feeling the sticky sheen of sweat glaze her skin. Her stomach rose and fell rhythmically, drawing more oxygen into her body. Again her gaze returned to the camera. The gaze was inescapable in the slot. They were watching your every move. The first thing Franky was gonna do when she got out of here is take a piss without anyone watching. And then probably buy herself a beer. But for now, there they were. Watching. At the end of it all, the end of all the cables and cameras, was it Erica Davidson? Erica Davidson. A smile came across Franky’s lips as she recalled her fondest memories of the woman. In a place like this she was a real breath of fresh air. Erica wanted so many things, that was clear. She was an ambitious lawyer, future wife and now governor of Wentworth Correctional. But Franky knew that all these things, all these things since meeting Franky, were to fill the hole in her life shaped like the woman who was lying on the floor in solitary thinking about her. When Franky was going for her HSC they’d told her she’d be given a supervisor to keep her on track. She thought they’d send some wrinkled old fuck who doesn’t give a stuff about anyone but himself. But they sent Erica. They’d spend their days together, going over books and worksheets. Franky would provoke her, ask her things that student shouldn’t ask their teacher. She’d push her a little further each day and Erica would simply roll with the current. Before long it was like a dance. Some days Erica couldn’t keep her eyes off her. The woman’s deep blue eyes laving over Franky’s body, hypnotised by her smile and her charms. On these days Franky could ask her anything. She had the governor wrapped around her little finger, (so to speak). Other times Erica was distant, worried that she’d given too much of herself to the prisoner. She was young, probably inexperienced. Franky wondered whether she’d supervised anyone like herself before. She could see it written all over Erica’s face some days. The conflict within her was taking its toll, and it still was. But, even now, she still meets with Franky. Still discusses things she shouldn’t with Franky.

Franky smiles to herself while feelings of warmth radiate out from her core. She wipes the sweat off her brow with strong fingers, returning her arms to the floor beside her, letting the concrete cool her skin as she thinks of Erica Davidson. A grin breaks across her face as she recalls the woman, the way she walks. Her scent. How she tries not to blush or glimmer at Franky’s deliberately provocative remarks, but fails anyway. Franky sighs, rubs her face, and rises from the floor, feeling the fatigue drain out of her muscles. She thought of Erica often. As if her thoughts ricocheted off the concrete walls and came back to meet her eventually. Everything in Wentworth sang of the Governor. All roads led to her, good or bad.

Franky never let anyone get to her. Everyone was kept at a distance. Controlled. Over the years she’d developed walls of her own. Nobody came to her unless she wanted them to. Nobody got to her. Except Erica. She was defenceless in face of the blonde woman, who had perfect blue eyes and a smile that could stop her in her shoes. Franky was vulnerable around Erica, her attention wavered. That was a dangerous game to play in Wentworth, for both herself and the governor. If Jacs ever found out how much she cared for Erica, aside from just wanting to fuck her, then Franky would be paralysed. They’d both cried in Erica’s office. Their emotions were spilled onto the floor like blood. They were hurting each other. Franky’s walls were crumbling around her while she looked into the eyes of Erica Davidson, when they brimmed over with tears. Their feelings for each other were clear, but neither could act on it. And so they sat in Erica’s office and cried with each other about how they didn’t trust each other. Franky was always gentle around Erica, she felt possessive of her. Jealous when she saw the ring on her finger. Nobody else should have the privilege of being so close to the woman. Erica, too, stood up for her. Protected her from injustice. She saw how Erica winced, as if the words ‘total waste of resources’ were aimed at her. Here, Franky laughs to herself, the governor sticking her neck out for her got her an extended stay in the slot. Franky again rubs her face with her palms, exhales into her hands and begins to pace the cell.

She walks over to the door and looks out the thin window embedded in it. The camera in the corner of the ceiling was meant to be as subtle as possible, hidden away in shadows, but the enormous window in the door was shitting all over that. She knew she was being watched. Hell, it’s not like she’s the shy type anyway. The light coming into the room from outside was slowly dimming. The sun must be setting. Another day had ended and she was still locked in this shit hole. Out in general population the prison politics were changing every day, and she wasn’t there to ensure it was in her favour. She’d have to make sure people still knew that Franky Doyle was top dog when she got out. No matter what that old bitch Jacs did. Even with the lights switched on it was dark in the slot. They keep it that way to make you crack. She hadn’t had contact with another person for at least a week. Well, aside from the hand that shoved her tray of food through the hatch in the door and came to collect it half an hour later. But she had to stay sane. Even in here. She couldn’t get back out there and have the women think she’d gone loopy. Franky tapped the door with her foot, listening to the metallic sound echo al around her. She groaned in frustration. It was a bad idea to count the days in here. It would send you nuts as fast as anything.

Franky walked and sat down on her bed. She shuffled backwards until her back was pushed into the corner of the room, knees under her chin. Sleeping on cardboard would be more comfortable than the beds in this place. It was all a part of the game the screws played. Outside her cell, in the corridor, fluorescent lights flicked on, sending beams of cold light into her cell. On some nights she’d rather be in darkness than having those bastards flickering all night. Franky sat like this for a time, thinking back and forth about her life in Wentworth. Sometimes it felt as if she hadn’t had a life before this place at all. A person could get so caught up with all the shit that goes on here and forget there’s a whole world out there.

Quietly, at first, Franky hears someone coming down the corridor. She thinks to herself that it’s probably someone who got chucked in here after starting a fight over a pack of smokes. She doesn’t move and just listens to the footsteps getting closer. Franky hears the percussive sounds become clearer, more defined. She smirks to herself and feels a rush of warmth when she recognises the steps. The hatch over her window slides slowly closed, leaving the room almost completely dark, aside from the glow spilling in from the watch lights outside. The hatch was there so you could be observed on the monitor next to the door outside, without seeing who was watching you. It was meant to isolate you. Franky listens intently as she hears the bolts on her door slowly open. She rises from the bed, standing in front of the door. She watches, as if hypnotised, when the huge slab of metal swings freely. Light from the corridor spills into the room and dazzles her. A figure steps into the room, Franky can’t see who it is. But the scent coming off this body and the warmth she feels tells her that its Erica. Franky’s mouth splits open to reveal an enormous grin, as she watches the woman slowly and quietly closes the cell door, but leaves it unlocked. Erica turns on her heels to face Franky. The prisoner has never seen her like this. Her golden hair is falling down around her shoulders. She looks stunning, even in a place like this.

“Franky…” Erica sounds defeated.

She doesn’t quite know how to approach the woman, whose hair and skin glowed in the grey light.

“I haven’t read those chapters yet, Erica. They don’t let me have books in here.”

Erica remains silent. She hardly knows how to react to the woman when she looks like this.

Franky asks, playfully, “Aren’t you going to tell me to call you Miss Davidson, Erica?”

Erica shakes her head, her eyes look tired. She speaks softly, with a tone Franky only hears when the woman came to their sessions after a hard day. “Not tonight.”

Erica was surrendering.

Franky looks deep into her blue eyes, the grin fading from her face. “What do you need?” She asks softly.

For a moment the governor remained still. Looking at the details of Franky’s face, looking at her hair. Her tattoos. Suddenly, Erica steps forward and grabs a fistful of Franky’s teal singlet, pulling her forward. Their stomachs press into each other while Erica’s other hand cradles the back of Franky’s neck. Franky smiles as she stoops slightly to kiss the governor. Their mouths become a warm place of joining. Soft strips of flesh moving against each other in hunger and want. Erica drops her hand to Franky’s hip, where her digits dig into the bare skin. The pace their lips set became faster as the blonde woman’s hands start moving ravenously over Franky’s body. She puts her hand over Erica’s throat and pushes her backwards, her back colliding with the metal door. Erica moans deeply into Franky’s mouth. The dark haired woman knew what she wanted, and knew how much she liked not nice. Her fiancé could never give her what she needed. Erica grasped at Franky’s singlet, lifting up the garment so it bunches under her breasts, exposing her stomach. The blonde makes quick work of the buttons on her own blouse and presses their naked stomachs together. Moaning deeply at the warm contact. Franky chuckles breathily into their kiss. The prisoner reached down and took hold of the woman’s thigh, feeling the soft material beneath her fingers, lifting it, pushing her back harder into the wall and bringing them closer. Erica’s fingers sink deeper into the flesh of Franky’s shoulders. The prisoner breaks their kiss momentarily, as the governor looks at her with dilated pupils and swollen pink lips, and stoops down and takes hold of both of Erica’s legs and lifts her up onto her waist. Slamming her against the wall. The woman’s legs wrap around her and Franky can feel the heat emanating from the blonde’s core. She walks over to the bed, while the woman wrapped around her kisses her neck, and lays Erica down on her back. Franky lays between the woman’s legs, with an arm placed next to Erica’s head, supporting herself while she looks over the writhing governor beneath her. Franky grins at her, while the woman looks at her like nobody has in her life. All the while Erica is gently tugging at what remains of her shirt.

“What did you do to me?” Erica drawls, her voice low.

“Exactly what you wanted, Erica.”

Erica reaches up, a look of absolute desire and surrender in her eyes, and pulls Franky’s mouth closer to her. They meet again this time, but the rhythm is slower, tongues and teeth being used to explore. As if written on Franky’s tongue were all the answers in the universe and Erica wanted to learn them one at a time. The blonde woman lifts Franky’s shirt up. Over her breasts, that were contained in their brightly coloured bra. Erica bites her lip when the garment goes over Franky’s face, as if the single moment of separation is tortuous. The blonde woman’s hands trail down Franky’s toned back as the dark haired woman leans into her, pressing her stomach against the woman’s core. Erica exhales and lets her eyes flutter shut as she drags her manicured nails down Franky’s back, enough to leave marks. The prisoner leans backward, using her well trained muscles to scoop Erica onto her lap, who grinds against her. Franky grabs fistfuls of blonde hair and it’s everything she ever wanted. Gently she tugs the woman’s head to the side and kisses her throat. Biting it. Bruising it. Not that Erica seems to mind. The governor opens her mouth and groans as her pelvic bone moves hard against Franky, her fingernails still digging into the flesh. The dark haired woman moves to sweep Erica’s shirt off her shoulders. Skilful, dextrous fingers undo Erica’s bra with one hand. She’s exposed to the prisoner. Before her Franky’s hands sweep over the expanses of warm skin. Soft, warm, flawless skin. Surprisingly, Erica does the same to Franky and the two are revealed to each other. The dark haired woman lays them down again, kissing the governor’s neck, relinquishing her hold of the golden hair and showing the woman such tenderness.

Beneath her Franky can feel the warm skin moving against her, punctuated by the hardened flesh of Erica’s nipples. Her back is raw from Erica’s nails. Too often during their sessions she’d dreamed of what they’d feel like scraping down her back.

“Tell me to stop.” Franky says, while she’s kissing her way down Erica’s heaving chest. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Erica groans, running her fingers through Franky’s straight hair, holding her close to her skin. With her lips Frank can feel the thundering heartbeat beneath Erica’s ribs.

“Frankyy…” The reply came as a breathy drawl.

Franky felt as if all the electricity in the world were coursing through her at the sight of this woman writhing in ecstasy beneath her. Their kiss had been her first contact with another in weeks, and it was exceptional. She feels Erica’s back arching up to her, sensing that the woman needs release desperately. She came here because she knew Franky was the only one who could give her what she wanted. The prisoner smiles as she kisses lower, towards Erica’s breasts. Towards her hardened flesh. As she runs her tongue over it the woman hisses through her teeth, the hands tangled in her hair pulled her closer. Franky drops her hand to Erica’s waistband, easily pushing her fingers passed the cloth barrier and against the governor’s wetness. Erica Davidson was a beautiful creature, and this creature was living, breathing and pulling her closer. The blonde woman moans into the back of her throat as she begins panting rhythmically, while Franky strokes her in circles. She sinks her fingers into the woman, who makes the most exquisite sounds. She keeps pushing, biting, kissing, until she hears Erica sing her guttural praises. When Erica Davidson comes she whimpers Franky’s name and holds onto her for all she’s worth.

They belonged to each other, but Wentworth would tear them apart.

 


End file.
